


The Path Diverted

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Porthos escorts Milady and the King back to Paris, there are some conversations that can't be held back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Path Diverted

The tension in the woods ran thick between the King’s mood, Porthos’, and Milady riding her horse like a Queen on her way home to her palace. It rankled him, made him itchy with anger and a bursting need to defend Athos from this, even if there was no current threat and Athos could take care of himself plenty.

He waited until the King had cantered a few steps forward, just out of earshot, before Porthos corralled the reins of his horse to circle around Milady’s horse, winding up at her side pressed so close that he could jump sideways onto her horse, if need be.

Only if she planned to escape, of course.

“I’m not interested,” she said coolly. “Whatever you have to say about Athos, I’ve little care for it.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve no intention of talking about him,” Porthos retorted instantly, used to the sharp edge of words. 

This was what he wanted to broach. There were some things he had worked very hard to escape, but his past was his past, no matter how much he regretted of some of it. Sometimes, the way Milady spoke and acted was like a portal back to his childhood and the women he had known. Sometimes, Porthos wondered how many times they might have crossed paths without even realizing they were planets gravitating around a common Earth, destined to come closer and closer as life drew on.

“Why this?” he finally asked.

Milady regarded him dubiously. “The diminished intelligence of Musketeers is hardly exaggerated. And here I thought only Athos was that thick. Why did I choose to do this once I was exiled from Paris? They are men that are easily manipulated and with riches to bask in,” she said.

For a moment, Porthos wasn’t sure whether she meant the slavers or the King, his stomach twisting with displeasure to think of the havoc that she might wreak in Paris. “Not this, why _this_? You had a way out,” he said, his voice hushed so the King wouldn’t overhear. “I know those streets, I know that life. You had a way out. Why not keep to it?”

Her face shuttered closed, the iciness spreading through each feature until Porthos could see the tightness of her expression pinching her mouth and creasing her eyes. “It wasn’t my choice.”

“Thief turned murderer?” he accused.

“I was discovered,” she hissed. “I did what I had to.”

She was like a snake waiting in the grass to strike.Porthos had seen the sort like her, had heard of what Saracen did to women like her in order to make them turn profits. He’d thought his own sins had been inexcusable and in need of honour and redemption. Men like that would’ve had to serve multiple lifetimes to make up for it. 

“Of all of them, I thought maybe you might understand,” Milady continued, a derisive echo in her words. 

Porthos hauled the reins so that he stopped both their progress (though his attention was still always on the King first). “Why? Because we share a common history? Because we ran the streets at the same time? You’re not like me. You’re not even like me back then, because I wouldn’t have killed anyone who knows about my past.”

“You don’t exactly go around shouting it, either,” she replied. “I remember you, you know. Hard not to. The little prince of the Court,” she taunted. “You might not have been the King, but Charon and the others spoke highly of your skilled fingers. The best thief in the Court leaves to become a Musketeer. It’s like a bad play.”

“I’m not the one who had to hide with bandits out in the wilderness.”

“I just saved the King’s life,” she reminded him, setting her horse in motion again. “You would do well to remember how he rewards his loyal subjects.”

Left behind in her trail, Porthos watched as they continued onwards to Paris with a bad feeling set at the base of his neck. For Athos’ sake, for the sake of France, and for his own head, he had to hope that whatever plot that Milady was cooking up now, they would be able to stop it.

Leaving his past behind one more time, Porthos put his mind on the task -- getting the King back to Paris and his son’s christening as safely as he could. Thoughts of thieving, of squalor and hopelessness, and the dimmest of diminished dreams were left in his path.

He wasn’t like her. 

And so long as she was there to remind him of that dark path, Porthos knew he never could be.


End file.
